Chapter 19
Paisley opened her eyes, and immediately wished she hadn't. A vivid glare burned against her face, and there was a viciously throbbing pain in her head.
She squeezed her eyes closed again, trying to take stock of her surroundings. Memories filtered back, slowly and relentlessly, and her stomach twisted queasily, trying to turn itself inside out.
She remembered the cold, vice-like grip on her arm as she stepped outside of the Great Hall into one of the smaller corridors. It was Lord Ainsley, of course. Of course he'd followed her. Paisley knew then that leaving Dominic's side was the stupidest thing she'd ever done.
Too late now.
"Scream, and I'll cut you from gullet to pubis," Lord Ainsley said sweetly, the ice-cold tip of a dagger poking through the insufficient material of her dress, burning her skin.
She believed him.
They marched down the corridor together, the blade pressed against her lower back. From there, Paisley knew that it could reach all manner of important organs, or even sever her spine. In her imagination, she was braver than this, shouting out even as Lord Ainsley dug his knife into her flesh.
In reality, she only shivered and walked onwards.
She remembered seeing Emma coming towards her, flashing a welcoming smile. An old man was leaning on Emma's arm, telling her some long and complex story.
Lord Ainsley had leaned forward to whisper in Paisley's ear.
"A friend of yours, eh? Well, if you say a word to her, or even so much as wiggle your eyebrows, I'll slice her stomach open, and leave her to bleed. A nasty, slow death, that sort of thing. It's a quiet hallway there. No help will come, and that frail old man won't put up much of a fight."
Paisley had swallowed reflexively, and kept her eyes trained on the corridor ahead as Emma passed by.
Then they were outside, the cold taking her breath away, and Lord Ainsley had shoved her into a carriage.
The door had barely shut behind them before he was on her, holding a cloth soaked with something pungent and choking across her face. Paisley had tried to scream and struggle, but the edges of her vision were already starting to blur, and her limbs lost their strength almost immediately.
And now she was here.
And where is here, exactly? Paisley thought nervously, cracking open an eye.
The painful glare of light that had hurt her so much to begin with was a lantern, placed too close to her face. She was lying on her side on a pallet bed, without sheets, pillow, or even very much straw in the mattress.
It was dark in here, lit only by the hot glare of the lantern, and she could see only floorboards within her field of vision.
And a pair of boots. They were highly polished Hessians, gleaming in the light of the lantern. The owner of the boots was sitting with his legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles.
"Ah, Sleeping Beauty awakes," came a nasty, familiar voice. Paisley couldn't help the way her whole body stiffened at that sound.
She dragged herself up, propping herself on one elbow, and glared at him.
Lord Ainsley was seated on a chair facing her, the only whole piece of furniture in the grimy little cabin. He was grinning at her.
Like the cat that's got the cream, Paisley thought, in Ava's voice.
There'd always been something feline about Lord Ainsley.
That suited him, somehow. Paisley didn't mind cats, but there was always a cruel streak in them.
She'd watched too many of the kitchen cats catching mice and rats, torturing the poor things for hours before getting bored and ending the whole business with the flick of a claw.
Shuddering, Paisley pulled herself into a sitting position.
They were in a single-roomed cabin, drafty and poorly built, with the window badly boarded up, revealing cracks of night sky outside. There were two hefty men in black, one crouched over the fire and trying in vain to bring it to life, the other swigging some amber liquid from a glass bottle.
That brought Paisley's attention back to the captor, since there wasn't much else to look at. Lord Ainsley was watching her intently, with the enjoyment of somebody waiting for the climax of a play, or perhaps an opera.
"Are you quite comfortable?" he asked, his voice deceptively solicitous. "I've heard that stuff can give a person quite a headache."
"If by that stuff you mean the vile concoction you used to knock me out in the carriage, then yes, it has given me a headache," Paisley responded tartly. "Where are we?"
"That's really none of your concern, my dear.
Needless to say, we won't stay here long.
You and I will wait here for a few hours, until the hue and cry of your disappearance has gone down.
I can't imagine that it will take long. Then we'll carry on our way home.
I daresay you're keen to see England again. "
"Not if I have to go home with you," Paisley spat. "You kidnapped me. You threatened me. You are a monster."
Lord Ainsley considered this, inspecting one neatly shaped nail.
"You know, I believe we've had this discussion before," he said thoughtfully.
"You are too careless with your words, my dear Paisley.
I hope you don't mind my using your Christian name, since we are after all betrothed.
A little informality won't hurt. Don't you think?
Anyway, I think you ought to guard your tongue a little more. It isn't seemly in a young woman."
Paisley bared her teeth. "I am not your betrothed, and I will say what I like."
He tutted, shaking his head. After a moment's deliberation, he reached into a pocket and drew out a neat little nail file and began to shape one of his fingernails.
Paisley watched incredulously for a few moments. Feeling stronger, she swung her legs over the side of the pallet, taking in a few deep, long breaths.
Whatever potion he'd used to knock her out was still making her feel dizzy.
She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to orient herself again.
Was the door locked? Could she risk making a run for it?
Usually, she wouldn't be able to outrun Lord Ainsley and his thugs, but it was dark.
She might be able to disappear into the forest. Even the dark, menacing undergrowth wasn't as frightening as him.
"The door is not locked," Lord Ainsley said calmly, eyes on his nails, "but I wouldn't advise that you do anything rash, my dear. My patience with you has all but run out."
"You can't keep me here."
His gaze flickered up to her briefly, then back down to his nails.
"Well, you see, I can, can't I? When I am your husband, I shall have all the authority over you that the law allows.
That is, all authority. I shall say where you go, what you wear, whom you speak to – and whom you do not speak to, of course – and even whether you speak at all.
The law is very clear on that matter, as is common morality.
As your betrothed, I am sure I can fairly claim at least a portion of that authority. "
Paisley stared at him, wishing that she had the courage to reach for her hat pin.
She kept it on her, out of habit rather than necessity at the moment, but it was secured in a pocket in her skirts.
She couldn't reach it without attracting attention.
It was doubtful that she would inflict any real damage, but if she could stick the pin into him, just once. .. yes, that would be satisfying.
He glanced up, eyes full of amusement. "Am I wrong, dearest?"
She ground her teeth. "No."
It was the truth. The law allowed a man to exercise complete authority over his wife, and that was that. There was no getting around it.
"But I am not going to marry you," she said. "You can say what you like about morality and the law, but I broke our betrothal and left. You can't force me to marry you."
"Ah, but I can, you see," Lord Ainsley said, with all the regret of somebody turning down an invitation to an event they did not want to attend.
"I thought your father would put the pressure on you, but he's far too weak to do what needs to be done.
Much as I'd like to ruin the man, that won't secure me a wife, will it?
And so, I was forced to take matters into my own hands. And now, here I am."
"Why don't you marry someone else?"
He sighed. "It's proving more difficult than I expected. Besides, I am a man of pride, and you have rather spurned mine, dearest."
Paisley summoned her strength and dragged herself up to her feet.
"I am leaving," she said, her voice trembling. "And you are not going to follow me."
Her voice was weak, and not quite as impressive as she'd hoped. Lord Ainsley didn't even get to his feet or stop filing his nails.
"I think not," he said, conversationally. "Gentlemen, do give us a moment alone."
The two thugs got wordlessly to their feet and trudged out of the door without so much as a backwards glance at Paisley. A cold feeling of dread swept over her when the door closed behind them, leaving her alone with him.
"We've never been alone together, you and me, have we?" he said, his tone teasing. "It's not proper, you know. I have just ruined you, I'm afraid."
"I don't care. I don't care about being ruined. I ruined myself by breaking off our betrothal and leaving my parents' home. I work in a Scottish pub. My closest friend is a lady of the night. I'm not afraid about my reputation anymore."
He smiled. It wasn't a nice smile.
"Yes, I seem to recall that you have always been an unusual young woman, dearest. Playing those card games with your father, flouting the rules that the rest of us are obliged to play along with.
It always rather impressed me. Of course, the qualities that draw a man to a woman are not usually suitable once that woman becomes a wife.
That's the unfortunate truth of it all, isn't it?
Once a woman is married, her role changes.
You know, my late wife understood that very well. "